Gwendolyn B. Bennett - 6 Short Poems (1923-26)

Forgotten Poems #92 || Reissue #9

    
             —: Quatrain :—

       How strange that grass should sing—
       Grass is so still a thing . . .
       And strange the swift surprise of snow,—
       So soft it falls and slow.
    

    
              —: Nocturne :—

       This cool night is strange
       Among midsummer days . . ,
       Far frosts are caught
       In the moon’s pale light,
       And sounds are distant laughter
       Chilled to crystal tears.
    

    
              —: Purgation :—

       You lived
       and your body
       Clothed the flames of earth.

       Now that the fires have burned away
       And left your body cold,
       I tremble as I stand
       Before the chiseled marble
       Of your dust-freed soul.
    

    
              —: Street Lamps in Early Spring :—

       Night wears a garment
       All velvet soft, all violet blue . . .
       And over her face she draws a veil
       As shimmering fine as floating dew . . .
       And here and there
       In the black of her hair
       The subtle hands of Night
       Move slowly with their gem-starred light.
    

    
              —: Moon Tonight :—

            Moon tonight,
       Beloved . . . . .
       When twilight
       Has gathered together
       The ends
       Of her soft robe
       And the last bird-call
       Has died.

       Moon tonight—
       Cool as a forgotten dream,
       Dearer than lost twilights
       Among trees where birds sing
       No more.
   

    
              —: Hatred :—

       I shall hate you
       Like a dart of singing steel
       Shot through still air
       At even-tide.
       Or solemnly
       As pines are sober
       When they stand etched
       Against the sky.
       Hating you shall be a game
       Played with cool hands
       And slim fingers.
       Your heart will yearn
       For the lonely splendor
       Of the pine tree;
       While rekindled fires
       In my eyes
       Shall wound you like swift arrows.
       Memory will lay its hands
       Upon your breast
       And you will understand
       My hatred.
    

Gwendolyn B. Bennett (1902-1981) was “Born in Giddings, Texas. Her father was a lawyer and her mother was a school teacher.” Lived for a time in Wadsworth, Nevada, on the Paiute Indian Reservation, where her parents taught. Studied at “the Fine Arts Department of the Teachers' College at Columbia University, and the Pratt Institute, in Brooklyn, New York.” (Caroling Dusk, 1927) After graduating took a position at Howard University in Washington D.C. where she taught design and water-colour painting.

Bennett was awarded a scholarship and continued her studies in Paris at the Sorbonne, the Académie Julian, and the École du Panthéon. When she returned to America, she lived in New York, and was the assistant editor of Opportunity, for which she also wrote the column ‘The Ebony Flute’ (covering African American literary news). Bennett was a well-known illustrator, poet, and short-and story writer in the 1920s, and co-founded the Harlem renaissance arts magazine Fire!!, with Wallace Thurman, Zora Neale Hurston, Aaron Douglas, Lewis G Alexander, Countee Cullen, Langston Hughes, et al.

Merging her activism and art, Bennett went on to found ‘Harlem Circles’, a network of community groups for Harlem renaissance artists, was later on the board of the Negro Playwright's Guild, and assisted in the establishment of the George Washington Carver Community School. Despite her many achievements, Bennett’s work has largely been forgotten today, and has never received the sustained attention it rightly deserves.

Moon Tonight: The refrain of “moon tonight” coupled with the repetitions of images—particularly “bird call has died” and “birds sing no more”—weaves a spell through the words, producing two poems inside the one: two faces of the moon. One side turned toward the sun, waxing and waning in the earth’s shadow to a regular rhythm. The other turned toward the dark thickness of the universe, scattered with stars, singing as they turn . . .

     
              —: For Gwendolyn Bennett :—
                             by Dick Whyte

       the purple
       of the rhododendron
       throbbing
       beside the house

       nestled
       in the bloom of dusk

       what magic
       did the builders
       of horizons
       grace you with—

       O sky?
       O flower?
     

Forgotten Poets Press is very proud to present the first ever book-length collection of Gwendolyn Bennett’s complete published poetry from 1923-1927, with beautifully restored illustrations and decorations by Bennett. Available now in paperback ($US12.99) and Kindle (US$4.99).

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